Royai Week 2016
by ssadropout
Summary: These are my attempts at the 2016 Royai prompts. The chapters will not be a cohesive story. They are just various short fics united by the prompts. They will vary in tone. Some will be angsty. Some will be humorous. The will all have Royai! Chapter 7: Choices. Roy Mustang has made and will make a lot of difficult choices. He usually knows the right one to make. He knows the best on
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This chapter is angsty and takes place after Ishval and before the Promised Day.

FMA is not mine. I am not worthy! 

The mission was an abject failure. They'd had intel that the weapons runners they'd been investigating were planning to make a big deal that day. None of the marks had shown up for their meeting. The weather was too horrible for anyone but the mailmen and them. It was one of Central's most miserable kinds of days. The temperature was bitterly low. The barometer was diving. A blizzard would have been better than this icy rain. Their hair and clothes were stiff with it. He and the lieutenant had waited under an overhang in an alley, but it had not offered much protection. A better part of him would have been happy that the rest of his team was back in the office, dry and warm, suffering only from paperwork. That part was too frozen and remained buried deep inside of him in some tiny warm recess that must be there somewhere. The part of him that was in control pulsed with resentment, never mind that _he_ had made the assignments.

Of course, _she_ looked stoic. Her expression was the same as ever- impassive but practical. Patient, like she was with everyone and everything but him and his band of shirkers. Her cheeks were red and chapped. Not like the sunny pink blooms that he occasionally managed to trick onto her cheeks.

"Go home, Lieutenant. Take the automobile. I'll take a taxi back to the office and dismiss the others. It's going to be too dangerous to travel, soon."

"Sir, I should go with you. We can discuss the report on the way," she advised him.

"I'll call you later about the report. You're shivering. You really need to warm up," he insisted. "That's an order."

She sighed. A relenting.

He sighed to himself.

He wanted to take her back to his place. Snap a dancing fire into his fireplace. Draw her a bath in the tub that sadly could not accommodate two. Wrap her in a big soft plush towel when she was done.

Probably never going to happen.

She shivered again and glanced at his hands. His fingers looked so cold. They were too sore for him to put his black leather gloves back on. Before they had left the office, she had packed his ignition cloth gloves and a lighter in a water-proof case. She could shoot in her leather gloves, but he had had to remove his as soon as they got to their cover. It would have taken too long to remove them and don his ignition cloth gloves. He'd clenched and unclenched his fists and breathed on them to keep them snapping ready. Instead, it looked like his fingers could easily be snapped off.

If things were different, she would be the one breathing warmth to his hands. Holding them next to her body. She wanted to kiss the ice from his eyelashes.

Probably never going to happen.

But... maybe someday. 

**A/N:** Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed. Take care.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Royai Week 2016 Day 2- Colors

Future fic. Roy has made it to the top. More importantly, he has gotten Riza to marry him.

Rated T for fleeting and humorous mentions of body fluids and (yuck) solids.

Regarding FMA ownership: Not me. I am not worthy. 

"You don't mind if I call you tiny, do you?" The high squeaky voice emanated from the mouth of the Fuhrer of Amestris, who was kneeling on his living room floor. He tilted his head upwards to talk to his wife's face instead of her belly. His grin widened. "I'd never have guessed that it could be this much fun calling someone small if they didn't explode into a rant!" She rolled her eyes and shook her head, and he returned his attention to his wife's swollen abdomen and covered it with kisses. "I love you, my little bundle of joy." He stood and told her, "I'll be right back. I have something to show you."

Riza Mustang snorted. He was behaving even more idiodically than usual, but if she were honest with herself, that was one of the things she loved most about him. Her pregnancy had turned him into a goofy Maes Hughes, Jr. He'd been working so hard. Roy could be so serious. Obsessed. He'd spent so many years of his life being single goal-oriented. Well, her, too.

They'd always believed that he would become Fuhrer, but neither of them dared think that they could have happy personal lives. A day didn't go by without them appreciating this... miracle.

He came back into the living room carrying a thick folder. She raised her eyebrows in a query. He plopped down next to her on the sofa and opened the file.

"This is my baby folder. I've been doing research and collecting ideas. This here is a gizmo that I've got Fuery working on. We'll be able to hear our little spark anywhere in the house. What do you think?"

"That's a great idea, Roy." Riza leaned her head against his shoulder.

"These are catalogs for baby furniture and linens. I'd been thinking that we could buy either boy or girl furniture, and I can just transmute it if we pick the wrong gender..."

"Baby furniture has gender?"

"Riza, maybe it's time for you to begin your maternity leave so you can concentrate on preparing for our little cuddle bunny. We need to be ready."

"Well, Roy, if the Fuhrer can prepare while working, I think that I might be able to. Also, we still have three months to go."

"I just don't want you to strain yourself."

"Oh, I think that I can handle it, Roy."

"Well, let's discuss baby linens. We have a problem there."

"Please illuminate me. I can tell that this is going to be a more difficult issue than diplomatic relations with Aerugo."

The sarcasm was not noted. "Well, there are linens in all kinds of pastel colors, blue and pink, especially, but studies show that babies cognitively respond more to _saturated_ colors!" He looked at her meaningfully. "Their gazes rest longest on rich blues and purples. We have to consider this when decorating the baby's room!"

"Okay. We'll do that." This is normal for a first time father. Right?

"Now, these are my experiments for developing improved diapers. A diaper should be both soft and absorbent. I'm working on adding a layer that _adsorbs_. That should help keep the baby's urine away from the baby's delicate skin. Our cutie pie will _not_ have diaper rash. Of course feces are another problem. I'm not making any progress in that direction," he moaned.

She did _not_ want to think about him experimenting with poop. Could he be impeached if anyone found out about this? "Um, have you recruited Hayate for this project, because..."

"Yes! I've been diapering him! He's been an invaluable asset!"

She still wasn't _very_ worried, but: "I think I need a nap, Roy."

 **A/N:** Don't you think that Roy would get a little crazy? A few years back I wrote a Royai pregnancy fic where I also had Roy diapering Hayate. Head canon! Thanks for reading. Take care


	3. Chapter 3

Stars

 **A/N:** Day 3 of Royai Week: Stars. Another angsty fic. Sorry! I just can't help myself. It's rated R for Roy's foul language. Riza is a little more talkative than fic is influenced by the famous quote from Shakespeare's _Julius Caesar._ Of course neither FMA nor the play are mine. 

If there remained one thing of beauty in Ishval that they had not tainted, it was the night sky.

The three of them had come together as they often did when they were not on duty. They'd been silent for about ten minutes, lost in their secret thoughts.

Hughes lay on a rough itchy blanket, looking up. Hawkeye and Mustang sat on a large flat-topped rock. Hawkeye sat with her rifle, despite being off duty, and stared ahead. Mustang sat head hanging, eyes closed.

Of course, it was Hughes who cut into the quiet. "I like to think that my beautiful Gracia is looking up at the same stars. That's what I'll put in tomorrow's letter. We'll make a date where we both look at the stars at the same time. I'll send her kisses by comet." He pointed at a particularly bright star. "I'll call that one _Gracia_!"

Riza inclined her head and gave Hughes a weak smile. Sometimes, somehow, his ridiculous good spirits could pierce her dark cloud a tiny bit.

"She's in the city," Roy grumbled. "The lights and pollution will keep her from seeing shit."

"I hope that you won't use such language when you finally meet her! You are unromantic and mean, Roy! There are some stars you can see in the city. Right, Hawkeye?"

"She's from the country. She wouldn't know," Roy sniped.

"The stars where I grew up were nearly this amazing," answered Hawkeye. "In summer, when I had a break, I would lie on a blanket and gaze up at them. A friend would sometimes join me and teach me about the constellations. The angle is a little different here, but," she pointed, "that's the Lotus Blossom. See the one falling petal? That's the Wolf." She doubted that the friend would add to what she had said.

Roy's jaw tightened. He remembered those nights well but would not speak of them here in hell.

She continued. "We would talk about how the stars were suns that could have planets orbiting them, just like the planets around our sun."

Maes sat up and turned to the cadet. "That sounds sooo romantic. Was this friend a boy? Do you have a fellow waiting for you that we don't know about?"

She'd said too much. Before she could compose an answer, Mustang, without lifting his head growled, "Shut up, Hughes."

"Oh, Roy. We all know how bad it is here. You don't have to be such a grouch. Who here believes in astrology?"

Roy scoffed, but Riza perked up a bit.

"I don't believe in it, of course, but it can be fun. Some girls at my school read their horoscopes every day. When you're that young there's comfort in being promised love." She paused. She herself had been guilty of foolishly projecting the friend into her horoscope. "One girl at school showed the teacher her horoscope to explain why she failed a test. I remember her saying, 'It wasn't my fault!' Of course, it didn't explain why she had failed several other tests."

Hughes laughed. "Blame failure on the stars!"

Roy's head snapped up. "That's stupid, ignorant! The stars have nothing to do with the crimes that I commit. It's all me. My base nature. My cowardice about not refusing to kill. I accept total responsibility." He jumped up, but having heard Mustang's growing agitation, Hughes was ready for him and pulled him back down. Hawkeye just sat there, frozen.

"Hey, Buddy. What's wrong? Don't be so hard on yourself. We're all doing the best that we can, even though it's not very good at all. We've all had to make impossible decisions and live with them."

"I'm sorry. I apologize. Especially to you Cadet Hawkeye." Mustang worked on slowing his breathing and calming himself.

"What happened, Roy? Something... worse than the usual?" asked Hughes.

"I'm such an asshole." Mustang was hanging his head, again. "When I'm awake, all I can think about is all the people I've killed or maimed. Why can't we have respite when we sleep? You both have nightmares, too." It wasn't a question.

"Of all nights to talk about stars... Last night I dreamt that each Ishvallan who I killed became a star and that was why there were so many stars in the sky here."

"That really sucks, Roy." Hughes gave Mustang the hug that Hawkeye wanted to but couldn't.

"I don't know what to do," Roy whispered.

"None of us do," Riza replied.

 **** **A/N:** Thanks for reading. I'm going for humor for Day 4: Forgotten. Take care!


	4. Chapter 4

Forgotten

 **A/N:** Day four of Royai Week 2016: Forgotten.

Ah, humorous fluff in this one. No angst. Well, not _really._ My head canon for this fic is that the events of the Promised Day make Roy ponder his feelings for Riza. His blindness initially prevents him from approaching her about changing their relationship. However, once he gets his sight back, he is determined to waste no more time despite the possible consequences of breaking the fraternization rules. Somehow, he talks her into not waiting until he's Fuhrer, and they become a very secret couple. So, if they are finally so happy together, why do they both look so miserable in that final "photo" in FMA:B? Yes. The mustache photo.

This has about 1000 words. The words belong to me, but not the characters nor the FMA universe. I am not worthy. 

She was getting a headache just looking at it.

She should have nipped it in the bud, but she hadn't caught on. She called it _The Stealth Mustache._ It was just a few skimpy hairs at first. He didn't always shave every day, because he didn't need to. Sadly, it wasn't everyday that she got to be up close and personal with his (usually) enticing lips. They hadn't been intimate in four days due to separate assignments, and she hadn't turned the lights on when they entered her apartment. In the rush to get to her bed, they'd knocked into furniture. Hayate had already adjusted to the new situation, and his obstacle course training helped him barely avoid being tripped upon.

So, somehow, between dim light and haste, she hadn't seen it. Then they started kissing, and she felt it. If she hadn't been so hungry for him, she would have stepped back and checked it out, but... well, she was that starved for him. They'd fallen asleep soon afterwards, so when the dawn light seeped through her curtains, there it was. There that raggedy fringe thing was. They had to get ready for work, so she couldn't deal with it right then.

Later, she was finally alone with him in his inner office. At work, they were still _Sir_ and _Lieutenant_. They behaved with propriety.

"You really should shave it off, Sir. It's not... flattering."

"I like it, Lieutenant. It makes me look distinguished. It gives me _gravitas_." He'd been told that he'd be promoted to Brigadier General with the next pay period. "New rank, new facial hair."

There was a logic to it, but when he mentioned this new rank, all she could think of was how rank the thing looked.

"It makes you look like you are going to tie Pauline to the railroad tracks or the belt at the saw mill," she asserted.

"It will fill out soon and look better. If I'm to be respected as a Brigadier General, I need to look older. The high ranking officers equate appearance with capability."

He wasn't wrong, but he was horrendously going about it the wrong way. Maybe she'd buy him a pair of fake eyeglasses.

"May I be dismissed, Sir?"

He looked hurt but nodded. 

Every time (and everywhere) she broached the subject, the result was the same. He was adamant. She thought about withholding sex, but she nixed that option very quickly. Surely she could punish him without punishing herself. What fun was an illicit affair without hanky panky?

That night in bed, he stroked a long lock of her hair against his cheek. "I love your hair," he groaned. She leaned over, practically touching his ear with her lips. "I can't say the same about your hair," she whispered.

His eyes narrowed. "Love me, love my mustache." 

She was out with Rebecca. Of course, she'd kept everything a secret from Becca, but Catalina had always suspected, maybe known, that Riza's devotion to Mustang was more than professional. When she wasn't trashing Mustang, she was trying to fix Riza up, frustrating them both. Catalina was a shopping maniac, and while Riza disliked shopping, she enjoyed walking around and listening to her friend's chatter.

Today, Becca was chattering about _the thing_. "It's awful!"

"He thinks that it looks distinguished."

"Have you said anything to him?"

"It's not my place."

They continued down the strip of stores when Riza stopped short. The sign said _Walk-ins welcome!_ "Do we have time for this?"

"Are you sure that you want to? You may regret it."

"Not as much as... Um. It's time for a change." She sat in the chair and said, "Take it all off." 

The next day was the official day of his promotion. They had spent another night apart, so he hadn't seen her new look until he walked into the office. His jaw dropped. When his mouth closed it was in a frown. "May I see you in my office, Hawkeye?"

"Yes, Sir!" She grabbed a notebook and followed him in, shutting the door, much to the disappointment of curious eyes and ears.

"What did you do, Riza?" he whined. "You know I love you hair. Why did you cut it?"

"You know I hate your mustache."

His voice got cold. "You're ruining my special day."

"Speaking of your 'special day,' we have to be on the Parade Grounds for the ceremony in 20 minutes. Don't you think that you should assemble your team and head over?"

"This isn't over, Hawkeye."

"Damn right, Sir!" 

The ceremony was long and boring, because there were several promotions. Medals and stars were pinned. Photographs were taken. One of the photographs taken by Kain Fuery would (via Jean Havoc) find its way to a bulletin board in Resembool. That picture truly spoke a thousand words. The guys didn't know what the problem was between their superiors, but they knew to lay low. The looks on their superiors' faces threatened to let loose flames and bullets.

That night, they walked into her apartment without bumping into or tripping on anything. Hayate sensed the tension and curled in a corner, watching warily. The silence was deafening.

Finally Roy sighed. "I'll shave it when your hair has grown back to shoulder length."

"I'll get a hair cut every four weeks until you shave it."

"You drive a hard bargain, Riza."

"Believe me, Roy, if you shave it, everybody wins."

"Okay. I need a drink."

"Really, Roy. Don't you think you should wait until you've finished shaving?"

"You're right."

The drink was ready for him when he emerged from the bathroom. She smiled. "You look very nice."

"Nice enough for us to make up?"

"Let's go make up, now."

Afterwards, as they lay in each others' arms, he asked, "Is all forgiven?"

"Mmm, absolutely," she assured. _But never forgotten, you idiot!_

 **A/N:** Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed. Take care.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** I had a lot of trouble with this prompt. I wanted to jump out of the box, but I may have tripped up. This is inspired by Prokofiev's _Peter and the Wolf._ This is in the same future as my fic for Forgotten. After he regained his sight, Roy convinced Riza that they should not wait until it was safe for them to become lovers.

The word count is about T for mild sexual situations.

Neither FMA nor PatW are mine. 

"What's with that radio?" asked Roy with a puzzled expression. Riza was setting it up on her night table. She used to sleep on the left, but since Roy had begun sharing her bed, she felt it was better for her to be between him and the door as her window was inaccessible from outside. So, she was setting it up on the right side of the bed. She held a typed sheet- instructions.

"Fuery gave this to me. He calls it a _radio alarm_. It's like an alarm clock, but it will play a radio broadcast instead of a buzzer or a bell."

"Why'd he give it to _you_?" Roy grumbled. "Shouldn't his commanding officer get first crack?"

Riza smirked. "He was going to, but I convinced him that a radio would never wake you up- that you need a loud alarm clock. Since he- like the rest of your team- is well-acquainted with your sleeping habits, he agreed and gave it to me."

That shut him up.

When Riza was satisfied that that it was set up correctly, they cooked a light dinner. They had begun to develop a nice rhythm of working together in the kitchen. Afterwards, Riza did make him read and sign two reports, but it was basically a lovely, relaxed evening. Of course, they made sure that there was time to go to bed before it was time to go to bed. They both slept better since they had begun sleeping together, but eventually...

… the radio crackled on. Riza had chosen a classical music station, and she had been awaken by a bassoon solo. She began to tickle her General who was still snoring. "Roy. Roy!"

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. It's just time to get up. But Roy, does this music remind you of anything?'

He looked confused for several seconds and suddenly gave out a belly laugh. "Do you mean the game?"

She nodded, giggling. "You said that my father sounded like a cranky old bassoon. For a week after you said that, I could barely face him without laughing. I tried so hard to hold the chuckles in until I left his laboratory."

"I had an image of him as a bassoon with legs following me, relentlessly. Doot doot doot doot _dum_ ," Roy intoned while pinching his nose. "Pursued by a nasally judgmental musical instrument. But you liked _your_ teacher's voice."

"Mrs. Maxwell. She was a great teacher, and she did sound like a celesta. Her voice was musical and had that chime-like sound. I could listen to her for hours. Well, you know! I told you to come to school and listen to her."

"Yes. I sneaked away one day when your father was extra preoccupied and listened outside your classroom window. You were right. I bet she could sing well, too."

"And you almost got caught!"

He groaned. "I shouldn't have stood on that rickety rock. It's a good thing that I had kept up my cross-country running. Imagine what tune the bassoon would have played had I been caught."

"You said that I was a viola. I was really upset until you explained."

"I immediately knew that you were a stringed instrument. Not shrill like a violin could be. You were mellow despite your situation. The viola is the least known of the strings. People listening to music barely notice it. It's mysterious. But it's there, making beautiful music. Quietly supporting the other instruments.

"There's another reason that I chose the viola that I never told you."

"I don't like the sound of this. Are you going to tell me now?"

"Well, if you remember, we started playing the game after I returned from summer break. I was surprised that Master Hawkeye had wanted me to take time off, but I decided that he wanted me out of your house when you were home all day with no school. It didn't really help, because when I got back in the fall, you had, um, blossomed. You had become curvy. You still wore shapeless clothes, but you had turned into a _girl_. A beautiful girl. You were not the least bit androgynous, anymore. The curves of the strings reminded me of your new curves." He leered at her and she snorted.

"Don't think I didn't know you were always trying to sneak looks at my breasts. You're lucky I never told Father. He would have bassooned you with flame alchemy. You told me that you were a tuba. Your voice was already deep, and you liked its shiny brass color. I said 'okay,' but I lied."

"What? I'm devastated! What instrument was I if I wasn't a tuba? What about now? Did I ever grow into my tuba-osity? Oh, Riza, this hurts." He gave her his best pout.

"At first, I thought you might be cymbals, because of how noisy you were crashing through the woods and scaring any eatable animals away. But you got better. You actually were a good student, and I understood why Father put up with you. So, I decided that you were a clarinet. The clarinet reminds me of a cat. You had become more stealthy like a cat and kind of sneaky like a cat. Like when you'd try to check me out."

He laughed. "I do like being thought of as sneaky and stealthy, but I don't care very much what instrument I am anymore, as long as the music I make is with you," he cooed.

She shut the radio alarm off and said, "I think that I am up for a duet right now." 

**A/N:** Sorry for the corny ending. Thanks for reading. Take care.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Royai week 2016 Day 6: Ignite. I'm not too happy with this, but I want to complete the "challenge." I didn't know what the prompts were until a couple of days before Royai week started, so I am really rushed as the week winds up. A tiny bit of my post Promised Day head canon is in here. Of course, FMA is not mine. It's so obvious that I sometimes forget the disclaimer.

...

Roy Mustang was famous for his ability to ignite things. After all, he wore _ignition_ gloves. People loved watching the Flame Alchemist produce fire with a snap. He could spectacularly set things ablaze from great distances. His explosions and conflagrations could inspire shock and awe. He could produce flames into tableaux that were almost art. He'd developed a method of producing colored flames which he could hang in the night sky like fireworks. He controlled the blazes like a puppet master. On a smaller scale, he could do subtle tricks like lighting several candles in a row or even in a pattern. He could, carefully dry you off after being soaked by rain. Of course, he could get a fireplace crackling in a flash.

What most people didn't realize was that his ability to ignite things was not as amazing as his ability to ignite and incite people's interest, imagination, or duty.

He had talked his foster mother into believing that he was worthy of the investment and mature enough to be sent away for alchemy lessons at the age of 15.

He had convinced a bitter, prematurely old brilliant alchemist to teach him.

He had overcome another teen's reticence to form an enduring friendship.

He had unintentionally swayed that young woman into becoming a soldier.

He had convinced his two best friends that the military was corrupt and evil and that they could and should change it.

He had turned a group of talented but unappreciated military misfits into a strong and loyal team.

He had stoked the flickering flame in a desperately damaged Edward Elric and fanned his will to live.

Somehow, when he was a colonel, he had persuaded two generals- one who had affection for him and, amazingly, one who could barely stand him, to save the people of their country by carrying out a coup d'etat to overthrow the monsters controlling Amestris.

His ability to draw people into his plans consited of charm, articulate and logical language, intellectual brilliance, good looks, and a dash of petulance.

Now, to accomplish his most ambition aim, he was using his formidable powers of persuasion to democratize his country. It looks like he will succeed.

Roy Mustang has one more aspect of his heat-related talent, but he only shares it with one person- his old friend, his soldier, his lover. It was a very personal and private type of flame, the flame of love. Arguably, Riza Hawkeye's ability to fan his love is at least equal to his to fan hers. It makes for a pretty wonderful connection.

...

 **A/N:** Thanks again for reading. Take care.


	7. Chapter 7

Choices

 **A/N:** This was my first Royai Week as a participant, and it was a real whirl. I wrote seven fics in nine days. It was like cramming for finals. My brain is kind of tired. Anyway, it was crazy fun, and I thank everyone who read my stuff.

This fic has a little bit of foul language and only about 550 words. FMA is not mine. 

He appeared to be sleeping, and all but one of his subordinates would have believed that he was. Because he was known for taking forty winks in his inner sanctum, the rest would have thought that he was lost in some sexy dream. They would not have given it a second thought other than envy. It looked like of one of his frequent naps, but she knew better. His breathing, while silent, was irregular. He was thinking. He had a difficult choice to make.

He'd already made a preliminary choice. He knew what he wanted to do. What he had to do. That had been simple. He had a strong sense for what was right and what was wrong, and usually, he had no difficulty in choosing the correct option. He had his Lieutenant for when he began to veer in the wrong direction. He usually knew that he was misguiding himself, but he sometimes needed her strength to pull himself back. He would have loved her solely for her ability to help him control himself if he had

not loved her for … everything.

She left his office and quietly shut the door. He needed alone time. When he was ready, he'd bounce it off of her and maybe Breda.

He sighed when he heard her leave, but his eyes remained shut. Usually he wanted her with him, but she would distract him too much right now. He needed to concentrate on the problem at hand and not on her hair or her smell. Victory was essential, and failure was not an option. If he failed to convince the generals and Bradley to follow one of his plans, there would be war. He was dealing with Central personnel, and talking to them was always a pissing contest. He knew better than to seem like a threat to them. He'd have to be self-effacing. All they cared about was accruing power for themselves. Well, so did he, but he wasn't a complete hypocrite. He would not climb to the top by harming innocent people.

He wished he were dealing with Grumman, who was intelligent and decent beneath the loony exterior. He'd even rather deal with the Snow Bitch who would beat him in a pissing contest, but she was ethical and she cared about her soldiers. But, thinking about them was just avoiding the problem at hand.

He'd come up with three plans that could feasibly satisfy all parties involved. Bradley would only allow him time to present one. He was lucky that he was even permitted to participate. He finally decided that Plan A would suit their egos best. He had a good argument for how this would benefit the country and Bradley and the generals. He really had a chance of selling it, he thought. He'd be modest and let everyone else take credit. He'd know that he'd saved lives, and that would be enough this time. Yes, Plan A was the way to go.

He arose from his chair to gather his team. What would he do without them? He opened his door. "Lieutenant, I need you to gather and organize materials. Breda, there are a couple of points that I'd like to discuss with you." He was ready to get on with it. 

**A/N:** Roy and Riza are amazing, aren't they. Thanks for reading my Royai Week fics. Take care.


End file.
